


Protection Racket

by thisbluespirit



Category: Sid Halley - Dick Francis, The Racing Game (TV)
Genre: Community: hc_bingo, Ficlet, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Minor Injuries
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-17
Updated: 2018-03-17
Packaged: 2019-04-03 19:42:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 856
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14003286
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thisbluespirit/pseuds/thisbluespirit
Summary: Sid is battered and bruised, as usual.  Charles is not much surprised, but he is concerned.





	Protection Racket

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Hurt/Comfort Bingo Square "accept injury to protect someone".

“I should have insisted you go to the hospital.”

Sid shrugged, slightly and with caution. He was currently sporting a few new bruises to his face and no doubt a dozen more where they couldn’t be seen. It certainly felt like it. He had also won himself a small cut across the cheek and a long, jagged one to his good arm, which was what Charles was currently examining. Sid had patched it up as best as he could at the time, but it had proved to be one of those things that wasn’t that easy one-handed, even with the artificial arm.

“Look, I’m fine.”

That earned him a brief but speaking glance from his ex-father-in-law, who didn’t even deign to comment.

“You know what I mean. No point in taking up anyone else’s time, as long as you don’t mind.”

Charles finished unravelling Sid’s ineffective bandaging. The wound was nasty-looking, but pretty shallow; Sid had ascertained that for himself earlier. “Oh, I make sure the first aid kit is well stocked whenever I know you might be likely to call. Keep still, won’t you?”

“Thanks,” said Sid.

“Looks worse than it is, eh?” said Charles after a moment.

“Exactly.”

Sid finally began to relax a little, leaning back into the chair as Charles set up cleaning up the wound; the slight sting of the anti-septic administered to precise, dispassionate movements.

Nevertheless, once Charles had finished and replaced the bandage, he said, “For God’s sake, Sid.”

“Lovett would have liked to do worse. Didn’t think I’d give him the chance in the end.”

“And where is he now, this – Lovett, did you say?”

“Left him as a deserving guest of the local constabulary. Think he might be in for a long stay.”

“Good,” said Charles, rising and moving away. “Good.”

Sid let himself sink back into the cushioned chair and closed his eyes, warmed by the safety of Aynsford, and the fire in the nearby hearth; it wasn’t, of course, also that unsentimental, brief word of approval. Charles Roland was his ex-father-in-law and a retired Admiral, while Sid was a former jockey who came from the wrong side of the tracks and had been invalided out of racing. None of those facts conveyed any sense of their relationship. It had begun over a game of chess one day and continued only more strongly after Sid’s wife and Charles’s daughter Jenny had walked out on Sid. Then had come the accident, and Charles and Aynsford had been there. It meant a lot, but there was no point in trying to poke out the why of it. It just did.

“You should be more careful,” said Charles, passing Sid a brandy – one more reason to be grateful he was at Aynsford instead of bothering the casualty department of the nearest hospital. Not the kind of thing the NHS ran to.

“I told you. This is me being careful,” Sid said. “Lovett and his crew got a bit annoyed once they realised I was onto them. I think they would have liked to carve out more holes in worse places, if they’d had their way. So. This is me being careful.”

Charles lowered himself into his own chair and looked over at Sid. “That wasn’t the impression you gave when you left here yesterday. Hand the file over to the police, you said, and that was it. But you went back to the racecourse.”

“Yes,” said Sid. He shifted his grip on his glass, and then shrugged again. “Something came up.” Because Lovett had phoned once Sid had got back to his flat, breathing threats down the receiver about how much he didn’t want his nice little protection racket taken down. Nothing unusual there, except he’d obviously been keeping a closer eye on Sid than Sid had realised and had started talking about what he might do to Aynsford, and to Charles, if Sid didn’t back away. That crossed a line, and Sid had had no choice but to make damn sure he knew exactly where Lovett and his heavies were before he phoned the police. Hence his current state, and it not being something he could explain to Charles of all people.

Charles merely said, “Hmm.”

“Thought this was all your idea,” said Sid, with a brief smile.

“And I thought you could manage it without it coming to this – at least, not quite so often. Still, it’s done now, you say?”

Sid gave a nod and took a sip of the brandy. As you’d expect at Aynsford, it was the good stuff.

“In which case, you may as well stay on a few more days. No point in going back to your place until the arm’s healed up.”

“Not much,” said Sid. “Thanks.” He closed his eyes once more and thought about it, before looking back at Charles. “Is this a plot to make sure I look after myself or have you got anything else up your sleeve?”

Charles attempted a look of innocence and then gave a faint smile. “There is only one way to find out, isn’t there?”

“As usual,” said Sid. “You’ve got me.”


End file.
